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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26634388">Climbing into Chairs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/paceprompting/pseuds/paceprompting'>paceprompting</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kid Fic, Kidlock, M/M, Making Out, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Oral Sex, Parentlock, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sherlock Holmes's Purple Shirt of Sex, Slow Burn, Teasing, ptsd warning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:01:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26634388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/paceprompting/pseuds/paceprompting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When John returned to Baker Street, this time with his daughter, he didn't expect Sherlock to fall so easily into the role of co-parent. He forgot that Sherlock, stubborn as he is, is quite adaptable. He let John in once before. And as John watches his daughter fall in love with Sherlock more every day, he realizes, fuck, he is too. </p><p>AKA: 5 times Rosie loves Sherlock, and the one time John does. (Even though he does all the time).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>373</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ooh, this is exciting. I've never written a 5+1 things fic before, but I am ready to try it. Hopefully you enjoy it, and if you do, please leave kudos and comments. I love comments because I like to know what y'all think.</p><p>So, enjoy!</p><p>Also, I do take prompts for this ship or any others I've written about before (you can check on my profile), but if there's one you'd like that you don't see, just ask!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John puttered around the kitchen, talking softly to Rosie who was watching him with rapt attention, a yellow teething ring held in one hand.</p><p>“I’m sure Sherlock wouldn’t mind some lunch. You think, darling?” Rosie babbled her agreement, leaning forward over her legs to stare at Sherlock in the living room. She very quickly recognized Sherlock as a figure in her life, and often watched this strange man who she and her father now lived with.</p><p>Seeing Rosie quite content to stare at Sherlock while he sat, fingers steepled at his lips, and staring into his mind palace – in reality at nothing – John paid full attention to his cooking on the stove, humming under his breath.</p><p>In a way quite quietly for a young child, Rosie crawled across the kitchen, teething toy abandoned behind her. Her hands slapped softly on the hardwood, but John remained cooking. Her eyes were fixed on Sherlock and she only moved from her path of a straight line when John’s chair ended up in her way.</p><p>She stopped directly at the base of Sherlock’s chair in the space between his long legs and stared up at him. Normally, even Sherlock would give her some attention when she decided to come to him instead of John.</p><p>Since John and Rosie had come to live at Baker Street, Sherlock had not had very difficult cases. Barely worth the effort most of the time, but a newly-widowed John Watson was not a John Watson even Sherlock would make completely responsible for rent and groceries.</p><p>A locked-door homicide and kidnapping, with no sign of a struggle and very little blood, however…required the mind palace.</p><p>Rosie scowled at Sherlock. He could at least give her his long and spindly fingers to examine. Possibly gnaw on.</p><p>Unused to this, Rosie stretched and reached out to grip the edge of the chair cushion, grunting as she leveraged herself onto her feet. Still, Sherlock stared ahead.</p><p>Her scowl deepened and Rosie made a soft sound to herself. She reached out again and curled her fingers into Sherlock’s pants, and attempted (though she had never before) to pull herself up onto Sherlock’s chair purely by her own strength.</p><p>Sherlock, deep inside his own head, still didn’t notice an almost-toddler trying to climb him like a jungle gym.</p><p>Inhibited by the little space available for her and her developing muscles, Rosie ended up stuck with her arms around Sherlock’s knees, one foot braced on the front of the chair and her diapered butt sticking out behind her.</p><p>“Seryok!” she cried.</p><p>He blinked and his hands fell away from his lips, eyes now right on Rosie. John cursed in surprise, dropping his stirring spoon on the floor with a clatter.</p><p>Rosie grunted and readjusted the grip of one of her hands, eyes big towards Sherlock.</p><p>“Help.” she said.</p><p>As John hurried to get everything off to stove and avoid burning, throwing pans and ingredients all over the kitchen, Sherlock lifted Rosie out of her uncomfortable position and stood her on the cushion in front of him. She hummed pleasantly, and when Sherlock adjusted her pink dress, she copied him, brushing her hand down her front.</p><p>John strode into the living room, a streak of sauce on his jumper. His chest was heaving a bit and his brows were arcing up toward his hairline, but upon finding his daughter perfectly content examining Sherlock, he stopped and let out a long exhale.</p><p>“I’m sorry she distracted you.” John cleared his throat and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. He started forward again toward Rosie and Sherlock as he continued, “I know you have this case and if she’s being a bother-”</p><p>“It’s not a bother, John.” This stopped John in his tracks, arms outstretched to retrieve Rosie. Sherlock brushed a blonde curl from her face, which made her scrunch up her nose when it tickled. “Not a bother.”</p><p>After a quiet moment, and John lowered his arms, he cracked a smile and fell into his chair across from Sherlock’s. He cocked his head while watching Rosie compare her hand to Sherlock’s, letting out little ah’s and hums.</p><p>“Seryok…” he murmured.</p><p>At the word, Rosie laughed and poked a finger at Sherlock’s nose. He returned with a light tap on hers.</p><p>“Believe it’s my name, John.”</p><p>Sherlock’s eyes flicked up and met with John’s, a small smile across his face. John’s chest lifted at the sight.</p><p>She was a little early in picking up real words, but even that was quite the word for a barely-one-year-old. He stood from his chair and stepped over behind Rosie, resting one hand on her back.</p><p>“Who’s this, Rosie-dear?” He pointed over her shoulder.</p><p>“<em>Seryok</em>.” She replied, turning and frowning at her father for such a question. It was a very Sherlock tone she was using – an obvious answer that John had been unaware of. He chuckled and pressed a kiss into her hair.</p><p> “Weren’t you preparing something?” Sherlock asked as Rosie began poking him in different places, then wait for him to do the same.</p><p>John smiled at Sherlock and Rosie.</p><p>“Not important.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sherlock, don’t give her a skull.”</p>
<p>John laid his paper on his lap with a sigh, eyeing Sherlock who had papers and books galore laid out around him on the floor. Beside him was Rosie, patiently patting the top of a skull, right on the sagittal suture along the middle.</p>
<p>“She likes it.” Sherlock answers, picking up a faded piece of paper from his far left and comparing it to a modern map of Camden.</p>
<p>“It’s a <em>skull</em>.” John argues, clenching the newspaper in his fists until his nails broke through. When Sherlock ignored him, his shoulders tensed and he took his furious stance, even sitting in his chair. “For <em>Christ</em> sake, Sherlock–”  </p>
<p>“John, it’s not <em>real</em>.” Sherlock eyed him over the top of his work for a second, then rolled his eyes and gestured to Rosie so John would pay more attention. John furrowed his brows, but focused on his daughter, now holding the skull in both hands and pulling at the movable jaw. With one intentful pull, the piece came off from the skull and Rosie dropped the whole skull down with a hollow thunk to further examine the piece removed.</p>
<p>The entire thing was a dull, beige-ish white, but was definitely plastic, since it had no damage from its plummet onto the hardwood - even though carpeted.</p>
<p>“Oh.” John murmured, sitting back in his chair. His blood was still a little hot from his earlier frustration, but his shoulders relaxed and jaw unclenched as he kept watching his daughter explore the toy skull.</p>
<p>She seemed perfectly content, especially since being cooped up inside had been getting on the entire flat’s nerves. But so far, Rosie had been without whimpering or a tantrum since Sherlock had obviously distracted her.</p>
<p>Sometimes he could he thoughtful.</p>
<p>“Mine would be much too large for her hands.” Sherlock remarked.</p>
<p>John balked.</p>
<p>“Oh my <em>God.</em>” John turned sideways to face Sherlock, and began berating him for even <em>thinking </em>of letting his daughter touch a human remain. What was he going to do next, teach her the recipe for nitroglycerin?</p>
<p>Sherlock peered up at him only slightly, still examining his papers on the floor and mumbling to himself.</p>
<p>“I wish you would at least listen to me, Sherlock.”</p>
<p>“I’ve noticed it’s beneficial to let you vent your frustrations, especially when I’m quite busy.” John sighed, exasperated, his shoulders slumping. He opened his mouth to respond unkindly to Sherlock’s obvious babying of him, but when Sherlock still did not look up from his work, closed it sharply.</p>
<p>He breathed harshly and obviously loud for Sherlock’s sake – hopefully he could remember what the signs for being quite annoyed were – clenching his jaw and frowning at the mantle.</p>
<p>Sherlock folded up a handwritten note and slipped it into his pocket.</p>
<p>“I do listen to you, John.” He murmured.</p>
<p>John, jaw still clenched, moved his gaze from the mantle to Sherlock again. He cocked his head, just slightly and tapped his fingers on his armrest while Sherlock moved about his things. When Sherlock still didn’t elaborate, John cleared his throat, to which Sherlock did look up at him and take a quick read of John’s body language.</p>
<p>Sherlock squared his shoulders and in a reciting tone, informed John, “Rosamund is your daughter, and I am not her caretaker.”</p>
<p>John furrowed his brows, but said nothing.</p>
<p>Off to the side, John heard a little grunt and the cushions of Sherlock’s chair creaked as weight was put on them.</p>
<p>He looked over, and found Rosie, sat perfectly across from him, in Sherlock’s usual spot. She still had her jaw piece in her hand, as well as the rest of the toy skull placed beside her.</p>
<p>“She did it.” John breathed, gazing at his daughter.</p>
<p>While John had been preoccupied with Sherlock, Rosie had clambered into his chair, all by herself and suspiciously quiet. Or perhaps John had let his frustration cloud him.</p>
<p>Sherlock’s head popped up with John’s breathless tone and followed his line of sight to Rosie. John, so focused on his daughter, didn’t notice the movement, and when he rose out of his chair to move to her, Sherlock dropped his head back down.</p>
<p>John didn’t move her, seeing as she was quite content as she was and he didn’t want to take away from her little achievement. Instead, he perched himself on the arm and watched her silently.</p>
<p>She barely noticed him, fiddling with her new toy, and John had a quiet thought that perhaps he was going to have another Sherlock on his hands.</p>
<p>With no hint or seeming reason, Rosie lifted her head up in a sharp movement.</p>
<p>“Seryok?” Her little voice called out.</p>
<p>Sherlock paused in his reshuffling of his papers and said, “Yes?”</p>
<p>“What this?” She thrust out the jaw piece of her toy skull, and Sherlock peaked out of the side of his eye to look.</p>
<p>He said, “Mandible, my dear.” And went back to his work.</p>
<p>Rosie made a small ‘oh’ sound and went back to inspecting the piece herself, turning it over and over in her hands. John watched her doing this and brushed a few of her curls out of her eyes that didn’t seem to bother her, but he did anyway.</p>
<p>When he did so, Rosie turned up at him and showed him the jaw piece.</p>
<p>“Manble.” She stated.</p>
<p>John smiled at her, but his gaze was focused on Sherlock.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Two down, four to go! I hope you all enjoy the second chapter, and, as always, leave kudos and comments! I love hearing your thoughts about the story and I do take prompts as well.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A warning to anyone who is affected or triggered by PTSD, as it is heavily mentioned and experienced by multiple characters in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>While Sherlock’s strops always seemed to outdo the last, whether he’s extremely broody or strung out on nicotine patches, none compare to the strops of John Hamish Watson.</p><p>They are far and few between, especially in front of Rosie.</p><p>But once they start – like wildfire – they <em>burn </em>through everything in their path. They burn through <em>John</em>.</p><p>Calling it strop does not give it real justice when it comes to John, but Sherlock only has when John calls his behavior a strop to compare.</p><p>The difference -</p><p>Sherlock strops because he’s bored.</p><p>John strops because he’s in pain.</p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>221B is slowly becoming too small for two men and a 3-year-old. Rosie still sleeps in her own area in John’s room, and somehow Sherlock has said nothing about it. Not when John still clutches tightly to her when he returns home and makes sure to kiss her temple or brush curls from her face when he goes by.</p><p>But when John’s past comes to haunt him, it haunts Rosie too.</p><p>And she just wants to help. Wants to quiet John’s whimpers and tears and give him her special yellow blanket. He shouts and she screams, which sends Sherlock running to stop her before she tries to wake him, shoving at John’s shoulder.</p><p>He’s a second off, stumbling over toys in the dark, and John’s subconscious is in control so he lashes out at the touch that feels foreign to a mind under attack.</p><p>John’s hand snaps out and makes contact.</p><p>Rosie screams, a short and biting sound, and stumbles back, falling onto her butt.</p><p>Sherlock was nearly sprawled across the space between John and Rosie, one arm raised in front of him. John’s hand has wrapped tightly around his wrist, gripping enough to bruise and pulled Sherlock closer to him, snarling into his face, now awake.</p><p>John was unrecognizable for a moment, face contorted into a frightened, <em>threatened</em> thing in survival mode. A solider without men, stranded with no hope.</p><p>Sherlock tries not to wince at the constant, painful grip John has on him. He should let John get through it by himself, and he can manage the pain that might come from imposing himself into John’s pain. But Rosie wails behind him.</p><p>“<em>John</em>.” He hisses.</p><p>First, John freezes, reality crowding into the nightmare. Then his face eases into something more confused than terrorized, eyes flitting over Sherlock’s face.</p><p>He releases Sherlock and lets out a ragged breath, focusing on the reddening area where he had been <em>bruising </em>Sherlock and then at Rosie, staring at him with tears running down her face.</p><p>He lets out a pained cry, covering his mouth with one hand to muffle the rest and turned away from Sherlock and Rosie.</p><p>Sherlock swallows, massaging his wrist while watching John silently, who is purposefully not looking back, gasping through his hand and gripping his sheets in a tight grip with the other.</p><p>“Ro-<em>Rosie…</em>” he bites out.</p><p>Sherlock’s eyes widen and he nods, quickly stepping back and gathered up Rosie, blanket, runny nose and all. With a little sob and hiccup that went through her whole body, Rosie fell onto Sherlock’s chest and clutched to him as he whisked her out of the room.</p><p>He stopped once he made it to the living room, heart racing and a frightened toddler in his arms. She wasn’t sobbing as she had been, but was still sniffling and whimpering. One of her hands was clenching and unclenching in the fabric of his robe.</p><p>Sherlock splayed his hand across her back to check her breathing, but she instead took the movement as a comfort gesture and snuggled closer and turned to lay flatter on his chest so his hand better covered her.</p><p>“Would you like to sit?” Sherlock whispered to her. She nodded.</p><p>Sherlock kept her sat up while he lowered into his chair, and then slowly leaned back so that she laid more horizontal on his chest. He had sat like this before, basically more out of the chair than in it, but never with someone else also sharing the space.</p><p>Rosie lay on him silently, but she was still awake. Her breathing had slowed down as she calmed down from her scare, but not enough to say that she had fallen asleep, and every so often she would shift a little, possible to cuddle closer with her blanket or general uncomfortable positioning.</p><p>“Seryok?” she said, just a little squeak in the silence.</p><p>Sherlock adjusted his head to look down at her. Her curls were quite all over the place and she was still dressed in her bunny-covered pajamas. Gift from Molly, of course. Utterly ridiculous.</p><p>But quite cute.</p><p>“Is Dad okay?” She consciously elongated the sound of her ‘o’, recently learning the transition to the harder sound of ‘k’ and then brighter ‘a’. It was quite a happy afternoon when she’d first done that.</p><p>“Yes.” He answered aloud.</p><p><em>Generally</em>, he kept in his head.</p><p>Rosie sighed and patted Sherlock’s chest mindlessly.</p><p>“He was hurt,” Sherlock continued. His brain supplies all the facts, the statistics behind how often soldiers were hurt physically and mentally in war, whether or not they’re helped and the scars always left behind, but he clenches his hand on the arm of his chair to <em>resist.</em></p><p>There had already been reminders of “what and what not to tell a damn three-year-old, Sherlock.”</p><p>So, Sherlock keeps his information vague, nothing that could ever stand up to Scotland Yard, but was fine for the toddler currently asking.</p><p>“And though he’s worked a very long time to get better, sometimes he still hurts.”</p><p>“He’ll be better?” Rosie mumbled.</p><p>“Little Rosamund,” Sherlock sighed. “Of course he will.”</p><p>Rosie hummed and snuggled into Sherlock’s chest, her blonde curls spread across his shoulder. He looked out the window at the quiet, dark street as he began to lightly rub his thumb where it rested on her side.</p><p>Her breathing began to even out, and her patting hand stilled. Sherlock turned his head back to look down at her, mouth parted and soft baby snores sneaking out as she breathed.</p><p>“My dear Watson,” he whispered, glancing towards John’s room. “Your father is the strongest man I know. And he would do anything for you.”</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Sherlock didn’t sleep, and though he could not take his normal steepled-finger pose, he spent the next few hours in his mind palace. Adding bits here and there, especially in the half of John’s wing that was slowly becoming Rosie’s. A small little plush duck contained the new information of how she liked to sleep on his chest, cradled enough to feel safe.</p><p>When he returned to the world of Baker Street, bright morning sunlight streamed through the windows and John had appeared in his chair across from Sherlock and Rosie.</p><p>He was sprawled down, head leaned onto his hand and covering his eyes. He was awake, from the way his leg was bouncing.</p><p>Sherlock watched him quietly, eyes trained on the tensed muscles in his shoulders and how John’s fingers were gently massaging at his temples. His hair was a mess, and Sherlock felt it wasn’t too far to assume that John had not slept either.</p><p>“John.” Sherlock called, barely above a breath. Rosie didn’t stir, but neither did John. Sherlock cleared his throat, a bit louder and John peeked out at him from the space between his index finger and thumb.</p><p>His eyes were still red-rimmed and shadowed a bit underneath.</p><p>“I feel this is where I should ask you how you’re <em>doing</em>, so to speak.”</p><p>John’s mouth twisted in a pained smirk, and he scoffed.</p><p>“Bit not good.” He ground out. “But thanks.”</p><p>John’s gaze slid to Rosie for a moment. He grimaced and turned his face back into his hand.</p><p>“<em>God</em>…” he muttered.</p><p>“John,” Sherlock started, but John’s snarl quieted him.</p><p><em>“Don’t</em>.”</p><p>But when did Sherlock stop, really? John needed to hear it.</p><p>“John, you didn’t hurt her.”</p><p>“I frightened her.” John let out a ragged breath. “I <em>grabbed </em>her.”</p><p>“No, John.” Sherlock turned over his arm and showed the purplish bruise that had formed on his forearm. “You grabbed <em>me</em>.”</p><p>John’s head popped up and he looked at Sherlock’s arm, his brows pulled together and mouth open. He studied the bruise, fingers twitching until Sherlock turned his arm back over and hid the injury away.</p><p>“I explained what happened,” John leveled a glare at him, and Sherlock added, “Nothing too specific. She wanted to know if you were going to be alright.”</p><p>John rolled his eyes.</p><p>“She still loves you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”</p><p>“<em>Sherlock</em>.”</p><p>“She’s asleep John, and you can barely look at her. However, your animosity is purely self-motived and self-directed, which is understandable, but she is not even of an age where she will become resent –”</p><p>“Stop!” Rosie jumped, and John grimaced, but she remained asleep. He raised his hand towards Sherlock, “I just…<em>stop</em>.”</p><p>“Rosie will be alright.”</p><p>John grunted and rubbed his hand over his mouth with a sigh. He glanced over at the clock on the mantle and remarked, “It’s almost seven.”</p><p>Sherlock looked out the window and replied, “Hmm, yes.”</p><p>The wood of John’s chair creaked as he stood. He walked over to Sherlock and Rosie, and though his hand was shaking, he reached out for Rosie.</p><p>“I should start getting her up.” His face was serious and blank, almost. He could only look at Rosie, even when Sherlock nodded and leaned up so John could ease his hands under the sleeping toddler, fingers pressed by her torso into Sherlock’s chest.</p><p>John started to lift her, but she gripped onto Sherlock’s silk nightshirt and whined obstinately, eyes still shut. John’s stubborn solemnness fell as he chuckled and said “Up you come, love.”</p><p>She whined again and refused to let go.</p><p>Sherlock reached up and brushed two fingers across Rosie’s cheek.</p><p>John’s eyes fixated on it.</p><p>“<em>Rosamund</em>,” Sherlock murmured, a slight hum in his voice. “Your father would like to hold you for a moment.”</p><p>He looked up at John and remarked in a knowing tone, “I believe it would make him feel better.”</p><p>She froze, and both men waited as she thought, gazes locked. Sherlock was a bit mirthful, that all-knowing smirk on his lips, while John’s only betrayal to the tired lines of his face was the bright interest in his eyes.</p><p>“Okay.” Rosie said after a moment, and released her hold on Sherlock.</p><p>John lifted her easily in his arms and she collapsed on him, arms outstretched as much as she could get them around his shoulders.</p><p>“Hi, daddy.”</p><p>“Good morning, Rosie-dear. Did you sleep well?”</p><p>“Seryok,” she stretched out her arms with a yawn and wrapped them around John’s neck as he lifted her off Sherlock’s torso. “Comfy.”</p><p>Sherlock chuckled, then stood and slid past John into the kitchen in a swift motion.</p><p>He would barely have noticed it if Sherlock’s hand hadn’t brushed across his own, cradling Rosie to his chest.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Sherlock spends the hour John spent readying Rosie, give or take a tantrum, staring into his microscope.</p><p>Rosie had gotten into this slide, a little ring fingerprint clear on the glass. It was a perfect fingerprint, no smudges or missing areas. She was mostly whorls, and Sherlock was focused counting them when John returned.</p><p>He didn’t move from his position, although he did stand closer to the table so that John could begin his Sunday tea ritual. Biscuits first, which were in the cabinet just past Sherlock.</p><p>Instead, John’s footsteps stopped just short of Sherlock.</p><p>Sherlock stopped counting and turned his attention to John, though he didn’t look up. Rosie was puttering around in the living room, babbling excitedly with…her skull, Sherlock decided. It was her heaviest toy and she liked to thump it on the floor.</p><p>Sherlock was pulled back into John when fingers gently curled around his wrist and coaxed it away from the microscope. When they turned his arm over, wrist faced up, Sherlock raised his head.</p><p>John held Sherlock’s forearm in one hand, and with the other was gingerly tracing the purpled bruise vaguely in the shape of his nightmare-strengthened grip. His gaze was just as focused, brows furrowed, a crease in the middle. His lips were slightly parted and breathing slow.</p><p>Sherlock watched the purposeful paths of John’s fingers grazing across his skin. John’s mouth opened a bit more and he took the breath to say something.</p><p>“I…” he started.</p><p>“You’re forgiven, John.” Sherlock interrupted. “I don’t blame you.”</p><p>John closed his mouth, and exhaled through his nose. He tenderly slid his fingers across Sherlock’s skin and then off. The hairs on Sherlock’s arms stood up and he experienced a second where the hitch in his breath was uncontrollable.</p><p>“Cuppa?” John asked quietly.</p><p>“Yeah.” Sherlock breathed, staring up at John.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whoo, this is a long one! Hopefully, you all enjoy it just as much as the other chapters and continue leaving comments and kudos! I'm having a lot of fun planning this story out and getting closer and closer to the end!</p><p>And please, if I have incorrectly represented PTSD with John's attitude or behavior, tell me so that I can fix it and do this subject justice.</p><p>I am still taking prompts for this ship, as well as others I have previously written for. If you would like to request one not previously written for, please ask! You guys are always creative, and I adore hearing your prompts.</p><p>As always, leave kudos and comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was John’s worst nightmare.</p>
<p>Because it could so easily come true.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t come back to Baker Street. -SH</em>
</p>
<p>John had received the text over two hours ago, and it barely phased him when the flat was sometimes filled with noxious smells. And when his phone wasn’t bombarded with at least three more in succession, as was prone to Sherlock when he was bored, John had thought little of it.</p>
<p>And Mrs. Hudson hadn’t called, worry tittered in her voice, to complain that Sherlock was going to blow up the flat again, this time with a <em>toddler </em>inside. So, he didn’t worry.</p>
<p>God forbid Sherlock be unbothersome and it be a good thing.</p>
<p>Coming home – and wasn’t that good that he could say that again – from the surgery, he was already exhausted. Needed a cup…mmm, a glass of whiskey really and maybe check Sherlock’s arm again.</p>
<p>Then he realized why Mrs. Hudson had never called.</p>
<p>“Oh, John!”</p>
<p>She jumped up from the curb, yanking Rosie up with her by the hand and ran to him. She let Rosie go to curl around his leg and he leaned down enough to pet his hand through her curls. She seemed calm, but quiet, while Mrs. Hudson was quite the opposite.</p>
<p>“John, it was just terrible! Come back from the shops, and there was Rosie, all by herself right on the stoop!” John looked down at Rosie, as though she would corroborate the story, but she was still quiet, arms wrapped around John’s leg. “And I called for Sherlock, I can assure you, I pounded on the <em>bloody </em>door –”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Hudson, <em>please</em>.”</p>
<p>She frowned and emphatically pointed at 221B Baker Street. “He is <em>in that flat</em>, and if he does not open the door, I will go next door and call the police.”</p>
<p>And John struggled between defending Sherlock – whose reasons only made sense to himself, but were generally in the best interest of those he cared for – and agreeing with Mrs. Hudson and becoming angry with Sherlock for sending his daughter out onto the street.</p>
<p>The gunshot from the flat, however, made up his mind.</p>
<p>Rosie yelped as John pried her forcefully from his leg and thrust her at Mrs. Hudson, who’d begun sputtering nonsense until John placed both hands on the sides of her arms, and leveled his gaze with hers.</p>
<p>“Go next door,” he said. “Call the police.”</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>John turned and left Rosie and Mrs. Hudson behind him, eyeing the locked front door and rolling his shoulder, mouth pulled in memory of pain. Having to be left-handed for a week was not psychosomatic, when you have to go around breaking down doors to save your idiot consulting detective.</p>
<p>He must’ve been out of practice, and lost what little element of surprise he had, when it took three attempts to get the door open. No one was in the entryway to meet him, but there was copious shouting from upstairs, none of it Sherlock.</p>
<p>Swallowing his curses, shoulder now a smarting mess, John strode to the god-ugly floral chair Mrs. Hudson still kept near the stairs and removed the handgun he had taped to the back when he had returned, Rosie in tow.</p>
<p>If he actually has to fire the damn thing, his shoulder is going to be out of commission for more than a week.</p>
<p>He checked the clip, then paused at the base of the stairs, the shouting from above having stopped. Someone was walking heavily back and forth in the flat, which wasn’t good. If startled, they were going to be unpredictable.</p>
<p>“Who is downstairs, Holmes?” A raspy voice demanded. There was a murmured reply, and the pacing steps quickly turned to directed stomping and a sudden.</p>
<p>“Answer him, <em>now</em>!”</p>
<p>There’s a short scuffle, which John used to cover up the sound of the creaky step and make it mostly up the staircase, enough to clearly hear: “It could be Scotland Yard, they would wait long enough for you to kill me.”</p>
<p>And that was definitely Sherlock, bitterly sarcastic to the end.</p>
<p>Idiot.</p>
<p>“Sure it’s not your dear friend, Watson?”</p>
<p>“If you’d <em>bothered </em>to take my cell phone, you’d realize that I obviously told him to stay away.”</p>
<p>There was another scuffle, and Sherlock grunted as he was thrown to the floor; the sound of his phone shattering against the wall soon after.</p>
<p>He should have come in then, John realized, while they were distracted with the opening Sherlock had so obviously given him. <em>You see but you do not observe, John</em>.</p>
<p>Sirens chirped from the street outside, and Sherlock grunted again, possibly from being yanked up by the stomping man, who growled, “Bingley, deal with Watson, who has so obviously arrived.”</p>
<p>“Ah, good for you. Your meager mind has managed – ” There was a roar from Sherlock’s comment that interrupted him, as the other man, Bingley, opened the door.</p>
<p>Gritting his teeth, John shoved into the door as it opened – damn his bloody shoulder – knocking the edge into Bingley’s face. He followed it open, kicking out Bingley’s feet from under him so he fell onto his back, and then pressed his foot into the man’s sternum and aimed his weapon at his head.</p>
<p>Sherlock meanwhile had dispatched with his own intruder, aiming an unfamiliar gun at him, most likely taken from the man sprawled on the floor. The man sneered up at him, but did not move, since Sherlock had aim at his heart.</p>
<p>John risked a glance at the man. “Is that?”</p>
<p>“The kidnapper, yes.” Sherlock tilted his head at the man. “Seems he didn’t agree with us finding Laura Hayden. Well, all the easier for Lestrade to arrest him.”</p>
<p>John rolled his eyes. “Right.”</p>
<p>~~~~~~</p>
<p>The flat was in…well, less-than-shambles. The furniture was still whole, but many other things were broken and strewn about. John would have held Rosie, but as soon as Mrs. Hudson had brought her in, she’d nearly leapt out of her arms for Sherlock.</p>
<p>She was as quiet as she’d been when clutching John’s leg, now latched onto Sherlock’s torso. She must have murmured something to him when he’d let her into his arms, as he replied almost immediately, “I said I’d be alright, my dear.”</p>
<p>And alright was… a word for what Sherlock was.</p>
<p>A bruise to match the one on his forearm was forming along the side of his jaw, and a few bloody scratches as well. He hadn’t let John check him over for anything else yet, but he could see Sherlock wince whenever Rosie squeezed his side.</p>
<p>But he didn’t seem to want to put her down any more than she wanted him to.</p>
<p>John didn’t complain that he was left to clean up the pieces of everything while Sherlock perused the kitchen absentmindedly. John handed him Rosie’s plastic skull, and she took it tiredly, but just rested it against Sherlock’s chest.</p>
<p>Unlikely to separate the two, John joined them in the kitchen and leaned against the counter, hands braced on the edge.</p>
<p>“You sent her outside.”</p>
<p>Sherlock looked at Rosie and nodded. As he rested his hand on her back, he said, “I realized they were upstairs, their foot treads were audible even though they were horrendously attempting to be silent, and I thought – ”</p>
<p>John stopped him.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Sherlock.”</p>
<p>Sherlock watched John, those bright eyes studying him quickly and carefully.</p>
<p>John crossed his arms, then, and lifted his chin at Sherlock. “But if the next time, <em>both </em>of you aren’t outside, I’m moving out of Baker Street.”</p>
<p>Sherlock smiled.</p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p>Rosie shifted her weight, to which Sherlock winced, but did nothing, and she said sleepily, “No, stay.”</p>
<p>Sherlock snorted, and Rosie reached up to cover his mouth with her hand, shushing him. John lowered his head and bit down on his lip to muffle his snickers.</p>
<p>When they’d all settled, Rosie giving a long yawn, John sighed. Sherlock looked at him, and seemed resigned to putting Rosie to bed, pointing his chin to the stairs. He hadn’t gone to bed without Rosie for a while now, but Sherlock more than deserved John’s trust.</p>
<p>He stepped to them and pressed a kiss to the side of Rosie’s head, trying very hard not to meet Sherlock’s musing gaze as he stepped away. He walked out of the kitchen without another word, only pausing when Sherlock quietly called out to him.</p>
<p>“Won’t keep her up more than an hour.”</p>
<p>Rosie giggled and John shook his head at the floor, then continued onward to bed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello everyone, only two chapters to go! This one was little tamer, romance-wise, but more is to come!</p>
<p>Leave kudos and comments, and if you feel inspired, a writing prompt! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Also, Happy International Women's Day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock healed, though he gained a few other bruises from a few cases. His side was one long purple and blue mess, thankfully with no internal bleeding, but it took the longest to lighten up, and for once, Sherlock let Lestrade take the suspect down, holding his side when they’d stopped running.</p>
<p>There was little complaint when John ordered him to bathe and then stay in bed for the night.</p>
<p>Rosie could even tell Sherlock was poorly, always looking at his closed bedroom door. Around lunch, while John prepared her meal, she started poking around the cupboards she was tall enough to reach, though none of them would open for her.</p>
<p>“Looking for something, love?”</p>
<p>Rosie looked up with a sharp pop of her head, curls flying, and her hands still curled around the cupboard handle.</p>
<p>“Do we, um…” She scrunched her nose as she thought, and slowly tried, “Have?”</p>
<p>John nodded. “That’s right.”</p>
<p>Her face un-scrunched and she quickly babbled, “Do we have biscuits?” and blinked at John with her eyes all big and eager.</p>
<p>John thought for a second of Mary in that look.</p>
<p>He set his pot off the heat without answer, but reached up to the nearest cupboard to the right, pulling out a box and setting it on the counter.</p>
<p>Rosie grinned when she saw the treats and immediately tried to reach for them, path directly in line with the stove.</p>
<p>John scrambled to grab her hands and steer her away from the stove with a sharp, “<em>Rosamund</em>.”</p>
<p>When safely by the table, he exhaled and crouched down to her level, holding her gently by the sides of her arms. “<em>Don’t</em> – Jesus…” He had to take another breath, and try to get out the edge in his voice.</p>
<p>“Remember, we talked about being in the kitchen while Daddy is cooking?” Rosie nodded, looking quickly to the stove and back. John stroked her hair and rested his hand on the side of her face, continuing, “I don’t want you to burn yourself, love.”</p>
<p>Rosie nodded again, and mumbled, “Sorry.”</p>
<p>John kissed her forehead, and sat back. “What do you want the biscuits for? After lunch? I would have given them to you.”</p>
<p>“I need them.” Rosie supplied, full stop. John waited a moment, but Rosie just stared at him, resolute in her reason.</p>
<p><em>She’s picking up Sherlock’s bad reasoning habits</em>, John thought.</p>
<p>“Rosie.” He tilted his head, and left the urging for more information open to his daughter, without demanding it instead.</p>
<p>“For…Serlock.”</p>
<p>The ‘sh’ was still difficult, but God, it made John smile still, and he had to try a little harder to be firm when he replied, “He doesn’t need a whole box of sugar either.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>John grimaced, hopefully inwardly, because two inquisitive, but not quite surroundings-aware people in the apartment might just end him.</p>
<p>“Well, I try not to encourage his bad eating habits.”</p>
<p>“But,” Rosie looked toward Sherlock’s room, blocked by the kitchen wall, and then quickly back to John, confusion in her furrowed brows. “He’s sad.”</p>
<p>And, yeah, sometimes, after a long day, John doles out the good biscuits and the hot chocolate, and Sherlock definitely takes some without argument.</p>
<p>He was wrapped around her finger, no doubt about it. But how could he refuse her now?</p>
<p>“Okay,” John says. “You’re right. We’ll bring him some.”</p>
<p>And her smile was so bright and happy, Rosie ran off to the living room, grabbing the empty plate Sherlock had left that morning and coming back with it, promptly holding it up with both hands and announcing, “Here. For biscuits.”</p>
<p>John chuckled and took the plate, opening the box one-handed and pouring some onto it, while Rosie waited beside him, rocking back and forth on her heels.</p>
<p>When he handed it back to her, she held it close to her chest, elbows tight at her sides and immediately began a determined stride toward Sherlock’s bedroom. John followed just behind, leaving the box without looking back.</p>
<p>She stopped only when she reached the door, unable to open it with her hands full, and John smiled as he did so for her, calling softly, “Special delivery for Sherlock Holmes.”</p>
<p>“Serlock Homes!” Rosie repeated.</p>
<p>Sherlock was laid across his bed on his uninjured side, an arm curled under his head, still wearing his suit pants and dress shirt, a dark blue. John’s laptop was open beside him, and he was typing with one hand, but he stopped to watch Rosie come up by his head and place the plate of biscuits in his eyeline.</p>
<p>Her little hands patted the duvet, and Sherlock moved the laptop away and the plate to its spot as Rosie pulled herself up enough onto her tiptoes so she could see Sherlock. She’d need help to get up any father, but she seemed content.</p>
<p>Sherlock sat up, so he wasn’t making Rosie look at him upside down, and John almost said something when he winced, but Sherlock didn’t give him any attention, speaking to Rosie.</p>
<p>“This is a special occasion, I take it?”</p>
<p>Rosie nodded and pointed at the biscuits. “For you. To be happy.”</p>
<p>“Just me?” Sherlock reached over and picked up two biscuits, chocolate side out.</p>
<p>Rosie eyed them, biting on her lip and humming. After a moment, Sherlock smirked at her and offered her a choice of the biscuits, which she took happily and immediately shoved into her mouth.</p>
<p>John and Sherlock laughed, and Sherlock took a bite of his own, slowly so as to not twinge his side.</p>
<p>After her biscuit was gone, and she’d wiped her hands on her shirt – <em>At least not the duvet, </em>John thought – Rosie looked over to John, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, and asked, “Daddy, you want one?”</p>
<p>John stepped away from the door with a short, “Sure, love.”</p>
<p>He joined Sherlock and Rosie, lifting Rosie onto the bed to make room for him to sit on the edge. She clambered over to the plate, grabbing as many biscuits as she could – most of the ones on the plate – and held them out to John and Sherlock.</p>
<p>Giving each other a short look, John and Sherlock both took three, leaving Rosie with two to commence inhaling with the excitement only toddlers can.</p>
<p>When her biscuits had gone, but John and Sherlock still making their way through, Rosie attempted to sit in one place, but there was nothing of hers to keep her occupied and soon she was bouncing on the bed, jostling the mattress.</p>
<p>And Sherlock, hiding his winces by looking down, wasn’t going to tell her to stop.</p>
<p>“Rosie,” John crooned, leaning over to place his hand on Rosie’s knee to still her. “Didn’t Molly just give you a new present?”</p>
<p>He heard Sherlock let out a long exhale, and grunt while he lifted his head back up, as though he hadn’t been in pain.</p>
<p>Rosie nodded, placing her hands in her lap.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you fetch it, and we can show it to Sherlock?” John prompted. Rosie gave a little ‘ooh!’ and quickly turned to slide off the bed, racing to the door, shouting “Be right back!”</p>
<p>“We’ll be right here, love.” John answered, trailing off as Rosie dashed out of earshot.</p>
<p>John was watching the doorway until Sherlock groaned beside him, and he turned to look as Sherlock rolled onto his back, shutting his eyes against the ceiling light. The older lights made the bruise on his jaw look particularly sallow.</p>
<p>“Been getting knocked around quite a bit.” John remarked, and absentmindedly reached out to trace the yellow shadow of the bruise on Sherlock’s jaw. Eyes still closed, Sherlock arched into the touch, tilting his head toward John.</p>
<p>“Part of the work, John.” Sherlock mused, speaking softly so as not to move John’s hand.</p>
<p>“Any chance to convince you to take a break?”</p>
<p>At this, Sherlock hummed and looked at John, eyes extra blue from how tired he was.</p>
<p>John, for a second, breathed a little harder, but kept his fingers along the sharp path of Sherlock’s jaw, only letting up when he reached his hairline. His heart was pounding, not fast, but <em>loud</em>…and he slid his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, a few curls wrapping around his knuckles.</p>
<p>And watching Sherlock scan a room, finding every secret in three seconds, was intense. When the iron focus was on him, experiencing the deductive power of Sherlock’s gaze…it was ethereal.</p>
<p>“John, I –”</p>
<p>And Rosie ran back into the room, clutching her plushie duckling and giggling excitedly. John let out a short gasp, and let his hand slide away from Sherlock’s hair as Rosie tossed the toy onto the bed and extended her arms to John.</p>
<p>He lifted and placed her where she’d been before, next to Sherlock, in the middle of the bed. She wasted no time collecting her toy and proceeded to show it truly and completely to Sherlock, babbling through its name and personality, and so many other things.</p>
<p>John was glad that Rosie was so focused on Sherlock, because the only thing in his mind was Sherlock – independent, genius Sherlock – saying, <em>John, I –.</em></p>
<p>~~~~~~</p>
<p>“Rosie…<em>Rosie</em>.” John caught her duck mid-toss, bringing it down to his lap.</p>
<p>Sherlock had long been burned out, no match in his state for a sugar-enhanced toddler, though he still tried to respond if Rosie talked to him directly.</p>
<p>Apparently three biscuits were too many, as normal bedtime had passed and Rosie was still bouncing, still playing and when it went downhill, John could tell it was either going to be exhaustion or tantrum.</p>
<p>She tumbled forward onto John, after he’d taken the toy she’d been throwing and catching. “Daddy, c’mon!”</p>
<p>“No, love, it’s almost eight thirty. You need to start going to bed.” Rosie pouted. Refusing to respond to John, she attempted to grab her duck, only for John to move it behind him and say again, “Rosie, <em>no</em>.”</p>
<p>She whined, going limp and flopping onto John’s arms. She was pleading, but so incoherently John could only catch bits and pieces of her requests to stay. She wasn’t so focused on getting her toy back though, so John curled his arms as best he could around Rosie while she flailed about.</p>
<p>With a low groan, John slid from the bed with Rosie in his arms, avoiding the occasional flying hand. Partway up the stairs to his room, Rosie’s whines puttered out and she laid limp across John’s arms. He had to turn sideways to get her through the doorway, and changing her into her pajamas wasn’t difficult, but she wasn’t actively participating either.</p>
<p>She pouted, through to when John tucked her into her blankets, but from one minute to the next – enough time to get a glass of water – she’d closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.</p>
<p>John downed the glass, and went back to the kitchen. Sherlock’s room was quiet, the light turned off, which John hadn’t done, but the door was open.</p>
<p>He looked at the…invitation? Sherlock hadn’t said anything outside of Rosie’s playing, or when John had gone to put her to bed.</p>
<p>Rosie’s duck was still in there.</p>
<p>Maybe he could go get it.</p>
<p>And Sherlock would say it again.</p>
<p>
  <em>John, I –</em>
</p>
<p>He wanted to say it too.</p>
<p><em>Sherlock, I</em> –</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We're almost at the finish line, people! You know what that means...the explicit tag will be in full effect. And John gets his shit together. </p>
<p>As always, kudos and comments (especially) are greatly appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John could both kiss and <em>murder </em>Lestrade.</p><p>The kidnapping case had ended with a spectacular payout and John spent two, uninterrupted weeks at Baker Street, soaking up time with Rosie as the time to enroll her in preschool loomed.</p><p>And two, uninterrupted weeks dancing around Sherlock while Sherlock...while Sherlock hung around the kitchen handing him spices and utensils, tucked his feet under John’s legs on the sofa and every night slipped to his bedroom before John, leaving the door open behind him.</p><p>John was confused until Sherlock started reverting to entertaining himself again in lieu of a case and started behaving…well, like Sherlock.</p><p> </p><p>The kitchen was quickly quarantined because of Sherlock’s liver experiment, per norm. Nothing from Lestrade had ranked above a two – often he barely had to open his mouth before Sherlock announced the answer. The flat has been rearranged, <em>twice</em>, according to the Dewey decimal system and one of Sherlock’s own creation.</p><p>But one morning, he’d been relatively tame, other than plucking minor, dissonant chords on his violin, lying on the sofa while John attempted to update the blog. If Sherlock was going to poison the air with rotting organs, John was going to terribly inadequately recount their cases on the internet.</p><p>Of course, even a calm Sherlock was not harmless.</p><p>He plucked a particularly jarring note, and John cut his eyes at him over his laptop.</p><p>Sherlock gave no indication that he noticed John, but for a slight shift of his legs, throwing them over the arm of the sofa. The length of them were spread along the sofa, highlighting the rest of the sharp angles of his body, dressed in his tight dress shirt and trousers.</p><p>He strummed another chord, this time just a basic soothing one, and John’s gaze jumped up to his hands. Sherlock strummed again, this time lowering the instrument from his chin and tilting his head up.</p><p>John’s eyes followed the long, sharp line of his throat and when he reached his mouth, Sherlock had bitten down on his lower lip and was just letting it go, the sharp point of his canine drawing over the plump of his lip.</p><p><em>Bloody bastard</em>, John thought and met Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock, of course, had been watching him intently the entire time with that stupid, brilliant brain.</p><p>He played John like his violin, but he wasn’t going to <em>tell</em> John what he wanted. Sherlock only told idiots what to do.</p><p>Sherlock raised a brow, and tilted his head. Even though John knew better, he couldn’t quite tell if Sherlock had purposefully planned to do this while the setting sun was streaming through the flat and onto him sprawled across the couch.</p><p>John tensed his jaw, breathing out slowly and swallowing the lump in the back of his throat. He wanted to touch Sherlock again, on purpose. Run his thumb across his bottom lip. This was an open bedroom door invitation that John wouldn’t ignore.</p><p>When of course Mycroft deigned to grace them with a visit.</p><p>“Fuck.” John muttered, dropping his head as his face flushed. Mycroft’s umbrella tapped behind him and the man stopped to the side of John’s chair. John kept his face turned away, but Mycroft could probably read his heartbeat from the pulse in his neck.</p><p>“<em>What</em>, Mycroft.”</p><p> “Charming, as always, brother.” John could imagine the face Mycroft pulled and smiled despite his previous embarrassment. “I assume the young Rosamund is out?”</p><p>“Mrs. Hudson.” John responded.</p><p>Mycroft was silent for a moment, then said, “This has been popping up across Enfield.” He took a step forward to toss a file onto Sherlock’s chest, which John’s gaze followed. “Too public to get involved myself.”</p><p>Sherlock cleared his throat and rolled his eyes, but sat up to read the file, setting the violin beside him on the sofa. He scanned it silently, but looked up at John under his lashes whenever he flipped a page.</p><p>John might’ve attempted small talk with Mycroft, but besides most of their conversations being Mycroft hiding half of everything he meant behind fancy phrases, John doubted he could look in the eye of the man whose brother he was currently gagging for.</p><p>Apparently, Sherlock was as eager to get Mycroft out of Baker Street as John, shutting the file closed with a quiet smack and tossing it onto the floor.</p><p>“No.” he said, and picked up his violin.</p><p>“No?” Mycroft echoed. Even John, first-hand victim to Sherlock’s boredom, was surprised, pulling his brows together at Sherlock.</p><p>Then Sherlock glanced at John, looked him up and down and then slowly away, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt - all in front of his brother and all for John to notice.</p><p>Yeah, Mycroft needed to go.</p><p>But when did he ever do things at someone else’s convenience?</p><p>“Lestrade hasn’t brought you anything notable in a few weeks.” He mused, looking about the apartment, at the kitchen and then at John, who pointedly did not respond to the deductive gaze.</p><p>Sherlock hummed, looking down while he positioned his long fingers on the neck of the violin.</p><p>“New experiment, then.”</p><p>He plucked a sharp note.</p><p>“If you <em>must</em> call it that.”</p><p>John froze, a chill gone down his spine. Mycroft knew what was going on, had probably guessed it from some CCTV footage months ago, if not from John’s obvious behavior. He knew Sherlock flitted through his experiments, on to the next as soon as the previous was over.</p><p>But John…John knew Sherlock as his friend, not a babying older brother. He looked at Sherlock’s face; that he was grinding his teeth and pressing his fingers into the violin strings so hard they were white.</p><p>Mycroft was a moron.</p><p>“Well, I surmise some success.” He announced plainly, and turned on his heel. He paused though, just at John’s shoulder. “Your laptop has gone to sleep, John.”</p><p>John scrambled to shut it quickly, making a face with his mouth in a line and curling into his chair to just hide the damn laptop from sight.</p><p>“Nice to see you, Mycroft.” He muttered. Damn his polite upbringing.</p><p>“Likewise.” And, <em>finally</em>, Mycroft strode from the flat.</p><p>John watched his polished loafers until they disappeared, followed by the quiet closing of the flat door. As he heard Mycroft descend the stairs, John relaxed and uncurled from around his laptop, slowly, in case Mycroft decided to give them more of his two cents.</p><p>“Always arriving at the worst times.” Sherlock said, with a slight strum on his violin. John assumed that meant that Sherlock was sure Mycroft was gone and he turned to sit right in his chair.</p><p>Mycroft hadn’t retrieved the file he’d brought, and it caught John’s eye, a bright rectangle on their dark carpet. Mycroft was intrusive as all hell, but he knew what would pique Sherlock’s interest better than most, privy to all the best criminals.</p><p>“You really don’t want to take your brother’s case?” John baited, nudging the file with his bare toe.</p><p>“Not in the slightest.” Sherlock said resolutely, adjusting a peg.</p><p>“Then there is an experiment?”</p><p>“Mycroft’s word.” Sherlock sighed exasperatingly, and set aside his violin on the cushions.</p><p>“And yours?”</p><p>Sherlock’s eyes met John’s head on. “Flirtation.”</p><p>John crossed his legs and laid his hands on the arm rests, staring down Sherlock. Sherlock matched him, but placed his hands in his lap, fingers laced together. He’d steeled his face, left over from dealing with Mycroft. The openness that he had been teasing John with earlier had been shielded, but now that John knew it was there…he thought he could draw it back out.</p><p>John narrowed his eyes and focused on Sherlock’s face as he said, “<em>Just</em> flirtation.”</p><p>Sherlock suddenly looked down at his fingers, twiddling them, until he seemed frustrated with himself. Pursing his lips, he stood swiftly from the sofa to start wearing more of a line in the rug. John watched him, following the back and forth of his pacing.</p><p>John wasn’t as overwhelmed by the anxious feeling crawling around in his stomach, practiced from battle to remain in control, though his heart was pumping loud in his ears again. They’d been doing this ridiculous dance, but John wasn’t worried now that Sherlock was going to lose interest. He knew he wouldn’t, like Sherlock knew John had needed life with a consulting detective to fix a psychosomatic limp.</p><p>Was this how Sherlock felt, being privy to other people’s secrets? Reading the truth across their faces, in their actions, just under the façade of their mask?</p><p><em>Say it, Sherlock</em>. John urged. <em>Say what you want</em>.</p><p>But he didn’t, fluffing his hair roughly with his fingers, curls flying, and composing himself. His face slid further backwards into impassive, and he fidgeted with his clothing, fixing the lines and buttons to busy his hands.</p><p>“You know what I mean, John.” He said instead, pulling up the wall between his brain and his transport, avoiding John’s frown as he strode to his chair, but didn’t sit. He stood perpendicular to it, staring at the mantle.</p><p>“Then say it.”</p><p>Sherlock dropped his head and exhaled, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.</p><p>It was <em>there</em>, John could see, sitting in Sherlock’s eyes, weighing down his head because it was stuck inside and not being allowed out his mouth. For a man who would spout someone’s life story upon first sight – <em>Afghanistan or Iraq? </em>– he kept his own in a ten-lock safe buried in the ground, the key to the words hidden in an ever-changing location.</p><p>And then <em>John </em>was saying it instead.</p><p>“Sherlock, I love you.”</p><p>His entire body tensed, radiating from his shoulders to his calves in front of John’s eyes. He turned just his head over his shoulder, hooded eyes directed on John’s feet.</p><p>John didn’t move, didn’t fidget, didn’t say another word, letting his words not only settle with Sherlock, but in his bones and his chest, finding their permanent place since John had finally set them free.</p><p>Sherlock let out a short breath and, despite his visible fight to keep a stoic expression, showed a small smile. John hadn’t taken a breath since he’d spoken, as shocked as Sherlock.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” He said quietly. “This has been…just – ”</p><p>“You especially don’t believe that.” John said it before thinking, interrupting Sherlock mid-breath.</p><p>Sherlock bit his lip.</p><p>“I <em>love </em>you.” John repeated, starting to smile broadly.</p><p>Sherlock let out a laugh, striding towards John in one, great step, beaming as he said, “Of course you do, I should’ve known.”</p><p>And before John could preen over his words – he <em>should’ve </em>known, christ – Sherlock climbed atop John in his chair, framing John’s face in his long hands as they crashed together in a kiss at least four years waiting. John’s hands fell naturally onto Sherlock’s sides, sliding onto his hips as Sherlock closed the space between them.</p><p>It was intense. All-consuming. The silence of the eye of a storm with the surge just at the line, as Sherlock kissed him slowly,<em> ardently</em>. He wasn’t shocked, but more aware that he should’ve been doing this for…<em>god</em>, so long.</p><p>“Sherlock…” John mumbled, shifting forward so that Sherlock could get his knees under John’s arms and just be closer, <em>closer</em>.</p><p>Sherlock suddenly pulled away, but not very far, his hands still on John’s jaw. His breath fanned across John’s lips and he said, sternly, “Quiet, John.” And then proceeded to steal John’s next words with a rougher kiss.</p><p>They were squeezed terribly in John’s little chair, and the angle that Sherlock had to be at was cruel, but he was touching Sherlock, <em>kissing </em>Sherlock.</p><p>John nipped a bit of Sherlock’s bottom lip – what he’d seen the man do so many times and now could himself – pulling a deep, low moan from Sherlock’s throat. John wanted to swear, but Sherlock was still keeping his mouth busy, and instead he tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hips, digging in his fingertips. Sherlock shivered in his hold, and slipped him a bit of tongue with a muffled chuckle.</p><p>And John had become quite dependent on Sherlock announcing every visitor to the flat, so he truly wasn’t paying attention, and much less able to think that Sherlock would be distracted as well, until the bright peal of laughter erupted behind them and Mrs. Hudson’s knowing tone rang out, “Boys, we’re back from the shops!”</p><p>John pulled away from Sherlock with a harsh breath, and dropped his head back on the cushion, eyes closed. He panted, but still called out in reply, “What’re doing, love?”</p><p>“I got sweets!” Rosie giggled again. And John couldn’t see her, but he knew Mrs. Hudson was not sorry about having sugared up his toddler. “What are <em>you </em>doing?”</p><p>“I’m…” He opened his eyes and looked up at Sherlock, who was hiding a surprising blush with his head bowed and his curls in his face. He grunted and sat up to press a quick kiss on Sherlock’s mouth – and he’ll definitely feel that in his back later – then said, “I’m having some time with Sherlock, love.”</p><p>“Well, you boys know how much I hate to intrude,” John and Sherlock gave each other a look at that, but Mrs. Hudson continued anyway, “but Rosie-dear will be quite tired soon, she didn’t even take a nap, and it’s getting quite on in the evening – ”</p><p>“<em>Thank you</em>, Mrs. Hudson.” John said, reaching out with one hand to ruffle Rosie’s hair as she walked past his chair to her skull, left behind on the carpet.</p><p>“Oh, of course!” She set a great set of bags by the door – more clothes, John presumed – and then proceeded to slowly make her way out of the room, waving goodbye to Rosie and sending them thinly veiled assumptions – Sherlock was still perched in his lap, to be honest…they both knew why.</p><p>When Mrs. Hudson had finally left them, Sherlock slid off of John, letting his hands linger on John’s jaw. His pale skin was pinkish, especially in his cheeks, but John hadn’t gotten to slide his hands into those dark curls, so only his lips, bitten-red, gave away what John had done to him.</p><p>“Mrs. Hudson is right, it’s almost Rosie’s bedtime.” John said, though his attention was focused on Sherlock’s lips.</p><p>Sherlock nodded, but was silent for a moment. He looked off into the kitchen and muttered, “I’ll let you do that…then.” Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he looked to John and then laughed when John raised a brow at him while smirking.</p><p>With a pleasant smile, Sherlock went off into the kitchen, John watching calmly.</p><p>He’d just made out with that man. And he planned to do it again.</p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>John had always surprised Sherlock, from the day they met.</p><p>So, when John pulled him away from his microscope and slid one hand to the nape of his neck, pulling their hips together with the other and immediately captured Sherlock’s lips in a passionate kiss, his mind was truly unprepared.</p><p>John had gone to put Rosie down for the night, and she had been particularly obstinate lately, so Sherlock assumed John was going to make sure she was resting.</p><p>He was quite sure he’d never been happier to be wrong.</p><p>Sherlock sighed into it, reaching up to gently lay his hand along the side of John’s face even though John was holding onto him as though he would run away. When he reached back to steady himself on the edge of the table, John just pressed him into it and separated their lips, leaving them both panting.</p><p>John was silent, eyes flitting between Sherlock’s open lips and his blown-out pupils, while Sherlock’s brain was frantically recording the feel of John’s mouth, John’s hands and the grounded way they held him, and finally John’s blissed out gaze after Sherlock had been kissed thoroughly breathless.</p><p>He sighed and pressed another long kiss onto Sherlock’s mouth until Sherlock shifted, rubbing against John’s interested cock. John moaned, but pulled away, holding Sherlock’s hips back with his one hold.</p><p>“Sherlock,” he chuckled as Sherlock tried to push against him, ducking forward to mouth at his jaw, near his ear. “wait a minute.”</p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes and squirmed away from John’s lips, frowning at him with a pink flush on his cheeks. “<em>What</em>?” he grumbled.</p><p>“I’m not going to make you cum for the first time in the <em>kitchen</em>.”</p><p>“I wasn’t – ”</p><p>“Yeah, you were.” John leveled an arched brow at Sherlock, who didn’t even bother to look ashamed, tilting his chin up. Contrary to himself, though, John pressed their bodies together again, to see the little smile on Sherlock’s face and said, “I want to lay you out on your bed, <em>love</em>.”</p><p>Sherlock swallowed roughly, pupils dilating as John rolled out the endearment, and he replied huskily, “I think we could both.”</p><p>“Not a teenager anymore.” John reminded lightly.</p><p>Sherlock licked his lips and quickly bit the bottom one, deftly sliding his hands to John’s belt, keeping eye contact as he purred, “Don’t you remember, John? You didn’t want <em>me</em> to cum until we reached the bedroom.”</p><p>And as he unbuttoned the trousers and slid his hand down John’s abdomen, Sherlock tilted his head, teasing his long fingers at the hem of John’s boxers.</p><p>“You lovely…<em>bastard</em>.” John gasped as Sherlock took his cock in hand, slipping it out of his pants. Sherlock grinned predatorially and pushed his thighs against John’s.</p><p>“Against the counter, John.” He hummed, dropping to his knees as they both crossed the space from table to counter, John gripping the edge with both hands and eyes trained on Sherlock’s pink lips, hovering close to his jutting cock as Sherlock settled below him.</p><p>Sherlock flicked his gaze up to John, watching him pant in anticipation, then closed his eyes and immediately took the head of John’s cock in his mouth</p><p>“<em>Fuck.” </em>John hissed, shutting his eyes for only a second until he felt Sherlock start to slowly take more of him. He forced himself to open his eyes and watch the length of his cock go further into Sherlock’s mouth.</p><p>John was not a small man, though his cock was thicker than it was long, and Sherlock had what he couldn’t take in one hand, stroking lightly as he sucked him off. Soon though, his lips had reached his own knuckles, and John gasped out a breath as Sherlock moved his hand to John’s thigh and began to slide his mouth back up his cock, then down, taking just a little more of John each time.</p><p>It was good. God, it was fantastic.</p><p>Sherlock picked up quickly that John moaned nearly every time he’d pause and hold John’s cock as deep as he could, pulling on his thighs to urge him even further in or that he could make John swear if he tongued at the head.</p><p>John would start to thrust into Sherlock’s mouth, but quickly stop, shutting his eyes and shaking his head, white-knuckling the counter. However, he couldn’t keep his eyes shut for long, as Sherlock would pull his attention down to him again, flashing his arousal-bright eyes from under his lashes.</p><p>“Sherlock, <em>please</em>…”</p><p>Maintaining eye contact, Sherlock slid off his cock and stroked the spit-slicked skin with one hand. He took a harsh breath, then with his lips still dangerously close to John’s cock, said, “You can fuck my mouth, John.”</p><p>Hearing that in Sherlock’s posh voice, John groaned and finally carded his fingers into the curls on one side of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock gave him a quick grin before John guided him back onto his cock, sucking him again quickly and bracing his hands around John’s thighs.</p><p>The niceties of Sherlock’s techniques were still affecting him, little hums around his cock and his tongue dragging along the underside, but they were sent to the back of John’s brain as he thrusted into Sherlock’s mouth, digging his teeth hard into his bottom lip.</p><p>He tightened his grip in Sherlock’s hair, earning him a moan around his cock. He spat out a curse, his legs shuddering under Sherlock’s hands. His orgasm was starting to crest, building up from his shaking knees, and he slowed to do long, hard thrusts, watching Sherlock’s reddened lips stretched around him.</p><p>“Sherlock, <em>fuck</em>…going to cum – ” He cuts off, Sherlock pulling him close as John thrusted into his mouth, taking his cock until it hit the back of his throat. With a load groan, which John attempted to muffle by biting into his fist, John held Sherlock’s head still, his nose nearly touching John’s stomach. His cock spasmed and he flooded Sherlock’s mouth as he came, moaning lowly as Sherlock swallowed it all down, prolonging his orgasm with the sensations.</p><p>John ended up having to slide Sherlock off himself, hissing from overstimulation when Sherlock kept sucking his softening cock. Though his blood was singing and his muscles sluggish, John pulled lightly on Sherlock’s head and he stood, immediately planting a kiss on John.</p><p>He could taste himself a bit, especially when Sherlock slipped his tongue into John’s mouth .</p><p>“Brilliant man…” John whispered, eagerly allowing Sherlock to explore his mouth.</p><p> “Don’t forget, John,” he pressed fully against John, the hard line of his own cock distinct against John’s stomach. “we’ve got to get to the bedroom.”</p><p>“You…” John roughly kissed Sherlock’s small grin away, rolling his hips into Sherlock’s erection even though his cock could only give a half-hearted twitch of interest.</p><p>Sherlock moaned softly, but pulled away to give him a pointed look.</p><p>“Need a minute, if you want more than my mouth or fingers.” John let one hand drag down Sherlock’s spine and rest on the curve of his ass.</p><p>“Oh, trust me, John.” He breathed along John’s jaw, before taking John’s hands and moving them off his body, stepping away. “We have all night.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Guys...guys...I finished. I finally finished it. They're together now. It's beautiful. I actually wanted to write more for this chapter (if you can believe it, this shit is long), so...if you wanted more....I could post more? It would probably be a separate addition, since this is 5+1 things, but would be part of this little world! </p><p>Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Send kudos and comments! You can praise me or yell at me, I'm fine with both :)</p>
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